


a little shy (and sad of eye)

by awrfhi



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: M/M, Phandom Big Bang 2018, Strangers to Lovers, basically just a lot of introspection and piano playing lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 08:36:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17200187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awrfhi/pseuds/awrfhi
Summary: “where words fail, music speaks.” ― hans christian andersenor, the one where dan plays and phil decides to listen.





	a little shy (and sad of eye)

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is the fic i've written for the phandom big bang 2018 and i'm so happy to finally be posting it omg :')
> 
> thank u so much to @littlelionsloves for being my amazing beta and to everyone who's read this over and reassured me that it's worth posting at all. i love u all endlessly
> 
> any and all feedback is welcome! hope u enjoy <3

It comes slowly, then all at once. 

It’s a soft, gentle, lilting sound that glides through the dismal London air to nowhere in particular. Other notes are played with it, the sounds bleeding and mingling and morphing into something more than themselves. The volume, the sheer thrum of the keys yielding underneath his fingertips, is almost loud enough to drown out the noise around him.

He loves it. He loves the worn feel of the keys, how the pedals squeak, how the paint has been chipped away to reveal a smooth wooden surface underneath. He loves how this piano stands, neglected, just outside of a train station, a smudge of black against a canvas of metropolitan grey. He loves it even more for how unloved it is.

As far as he knows, he’s the only one who plays anymore. There’s the odd occasion where a small child will slam the keys with sticky fists, only to be whisked away by their parents (he now has a habit of keeping wet wipes with him - who knows what kinds of things have been smeared on there) or a passerby will aimlessly play a few solitary notes (nine times out of ten it’s Mary Had a Little Lamb), but those are few and far between. It’s reached the point where he feels like he could push it across the road and into his apartment and nobody would complain.

Of course, there’s a slight problem with that idea in that his apartment (if he can even call it that) has barely enough room for him to sleep. It’s a cramped studio, piled with dirty laundry and books and miscellaneous objects he doesn’t know where to put. Having an entire piano in there as well isn’t a feasible option, as much as he hates to admit it.

Before he knows it, he’s played the final chord of the piece and the sound slowly fades out, falling on deaf ears. Even as his fingertips trail on the keys, there’s no applause, nobody watching. He rarely gets applause, which doesn’t bother him that much outwardly, but inside, it still stings every time there’s the usual hum of chatter where he craves recognition. Glancing around, he sees there aren’t many people around, which seems to lessen his disappointment.

He pulls his hood over his head and shoves his fists into the front pocket of his hoodie before making his way out of the station, towards the traffic lights. When red flashes in the corner of his eye, and he sees cars on either side of the road slow to a stop, he walks across and unlocks the door to his apartment block.

Twelve floors stand between him and his bed. It’s a blessing and a curse; whenever he gets home he has to confront his crippling lack of fitness, but the view at night makes it worth it. London stretches out before him as far as he can see, blanketed by the inky sky above. The sound of lingering traffic will filter through the crack in the window, filling the empty air around him and making him feel as close to whole as he can hope for.

Not that he’d ever admit it out loud, but daily life is a struggle. Being twenty and in such a formative part of his life at one of the most prestigious universities in the country should be easier than this, he reckons. It isn’t. It just isn’t, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can manage swimming in his own head before he drowns.

His phone blinks 5:14pm when he glances at it, the only notification flashing up an oddly passive aggressive reminder from his boss that he has work in just under an hour. He huffs out a laugh and flops back onto his bed. If his mental health was bad before, having a job with shitty pay and hostile colleagues has made it nearly unbearable.

After drifting between naps and idly staring at his ceiling, he eventually pulls himself up, changes into his work uniform and leaves without bothering to lock his door. It’s irresponsible, and downright stupid, but what’s the point? If a burglar wants to have his dirty socks, he can.

Once he’s made his way down all twelve flights of stairs, he toys with the idea of playing just one more song on the piano before making his way to work. He’s delaying the inevitable, and his boss will absolutely be pissed about him being late. For some reason, that spurs him on even more.

A minute later, he’s sat at the piano stool again and resting his fingers on the keys. His hands start to move of their own accord; before he knows it, he’s pouring his soul out through his fingertips and letting it spill onto the floor. The piece is a steady one with intricacies woven through it, and as he’s moving his right hand up, his finger drags on a key too long and the moment is lost. He pulls away like he’s burned himself, embarrassment flooding through him. Playing again was a bad idea.

With his hood pulled up, he doesn’t see the pair of eyes following him away from the piano, into the distance.

 

* * *

There’s someone there.

Dan half-wonders if having depression affects eyesight before he realises he’s staring at the man sitting on the piano stool. His posture is upright, serene, shoulders drawn back and hands resting in his lap. He looks too pristine to be sitting somewhere like this, Dan thinks to himself, all sharp lines and sloping curves. 

When the man finally stands up, Dan catches a glimpse of pale skin and dark hair slick against his scalp. A businessman, Dan decides. No student he knows would go around this area of London dressed to such an exacting standard.

This man falls into the rare third category of people he finds by the piano. For some reason, Dan feels oddly drawn to him. His legs want to walk over, to sit beside him and teach him how to play something,  _ anything _ .

But he can’t. Instead, he holds out; this guy will probably leave soon. They always do.

He passes time by scrolling through his phone until he’s almost certain the man has left. It’s hard; there isn’t a single notification for him to acknowledge and his fingers are itching to play something. Dan doesn’t have to strain his hearing too much to know that the piano isn’t currently being played, despite the stool being taken.

Looking up, he sees the stool is empty. Any tension he was holding in his shoulders seems to melt through him and pool at his feet. Pocketing his phone, he makes his way over to the piano and begins playing.

Playing this time feels different. Playing this time isn’t for fun; whether he’s consciously aware of it or not, this is now a performance, a way of calling out into the void and waiting to see if there’s any replying echo. The most he can hope for is a whisper in return.

The piece he plays is the saddest one he knows, one he only plays on rare special occasions. It’s simple, yet oh so captivating. On his darker days, he finds himself listening to it, his legs hanging out of his bedroom window and eyes straining to see any stars through the haze of light pollution. It’s as destructive as it is medicinal, as repulsive as it is utterly hypnotic.

After a moment in eternity, he’s lifting his hands away and awkwardly brushing dust off his jeans. He stares down at his lap and sighs, waiting for the wave of anticipation to crash against the bitter shore of reality.

Someone’s clapping.

Dan’s nerves short-circuit. Like a marionette, his head seems to be pulled up by an invisible string. The sudden difference in light causes him to squint and blink until he’s fully aware of his surroundings. He doesn’t care. Someone clapped, is still clapping, for  _ him. _ For a painfully mediocre offering of music addressed to no-one in particular.

Looking around to identify the source of the clapping, his eyes zero in on the man stepping out from beside a pillar. Before Dan even has a chance to speak, the man is walking over to him, a look of pure, unfiltered wonder on his face.

“That was incredible,” the man says.

It’s the same man from before. Dan can tell from the way he carries himself, unashamed and brilliant, and the way his hair miraculously seems to stay in place no matter how much he moves. He’s even more attractive up close, all chalky skin and inky hair. Pencil thin scratchings of stubble graze his chin.

Dan swallows, trying to compose himself. “I - well... thank you. Thank you so much.”

“I should be thanking you,” the man hurries to reply. “I’ve never seen anyone play like that. Are you professionally trained?”

“Trained?” Dan chokes out, taken aback. “No, god no. I just teach myself.”

“You’re joking.” The man laughs, a sharp thing of shock, his eyes wide. “You taught yourself how to play that?”

“Yeah.” He smiles up awkwardly at him, his insides fizzling in a way he can’t seem to put into words. “Honestly, it’s easier than it looks. I know harder pieces.”

“You do?”

Dan nods.

“Would you mind playing one more song? I mean…” he trails off, huffing out a laugh, “only if you have time.”

“Oh! Of course! Do you have any, uh, requests?”

“Anything you like.”

So Dan thinks of songs, of happy ones and sad ones and others that don’t quite fall between the human spectrum of emotion. He thinks of songs that have been with him for days or weeks or his whole life, songs that have travelled by his side no matter where he’s decided to go, songs that make him  _ feel _ .

And when the right one comes to mind, he begins playing.

The man listens and hums along occasionally. At times when Dan feels a little brave, he hums along too, their voices meeting in a way that’s too tender for him to begin to wrap his head around. Something about this stranger is magnetic, exhilarating. He could happily sit here and serenade him all day if he’d let him.

When the last chord rings out, Dan waits and tries to gauge his reaction.

After a while, the man smiles, but it’s distant.

“Nature Boy.”

Dan nods. “It’s a song that’s resonated with me for pretty much my entire life. Every time I hear it, I find something new.”

“It suits you.”

“The song?”

“The name of it,” the man says simply.

“Alright,” comes Dan’s reply. “Nature Boy it is. What’s your name?”

The man pauses. He looks almost hesitant, a contrast to his normal poised exterior. In a way, it’s refreshing; he’s just as human as Dan is. Despite how he looks, he’s known tears and triumph and glory like everyone else.

“Phil. Not the most popular name, but…”

Dan chuckles. “It suits you.”

Phil (Dan still needs to grow accustomed to how that name feels on his tongue) simply quirks a brow. “It doesn’t really suit anyone. You get used to it.”

“You sound like you’d know,” he notes.

“I don’t, actually,” Phil says. “Names aren’t easy to get right. You’re the only one I’ve been sure of.”

“It’s hard to be sure of anything these days,” Dan counters. “But I’m glad you think so, I guess.”

Later that day, Dan catches his reflection in the mirror and lets Phil’s words come flooding back to him. He sees his eyes, eyes that are an impenetrable kind of brown, and wonders how anyone could find any kind of music in them. If they truly are windows to the soul, his are bricked over, airtight, tuneless.

As he looks closer, though, the tiniest of cracks is beginning to appear.

* * *

 

 

“Nature Boy.”

Dan could recognise that voice from anywhere, how the words tumble from his lips effortlessly. Looking up, he sees Phil leaning on the piano, his face a rugged kind of perfect.

“I have a name,” Dan replies.

“If I wanted your name, I would have asked for it,” Phil says. “I can count the number of times we’ve seen each other on one hand. Isn’t it too early for names?”

“What else am I supposed to do to get your attention?”

“With a face like that, nothing at all.”

Dan blinks, wilfully ignoring what Phil just implied. He strikes him as the type who’s never dirtied a finger in his life, someone who’s waltzed his way to the top and never thought twice about it. Very few people he knows could go around casually seducing strangers like that without breaking a sweat.

But confrontation isn’t what he needs right now. “Why are you here?”

“I work just up the road,” Phil explains, “which is handy, seeing as you’re nearly always here playing.”

Dan makes a mental note of what Phil’s just said. To his knowledge, the only real decent work opportunities near him are corporations worth millions. It certainly seems to fit Phil’s image, yet the man stood before him hasn’t spoken a word to suggest he’s like other kinds of potential millionaires Dan’s seen.

“Something on my face?” Phil asks.

“A nose,” Dan blurts stupidly, forcing himself back into his body.

Phil quirks a brow, but otherwise ignores Dan’s failure in basic human interaction.

“I’d hope so,” he says. “Voldemort wants what I have.”

“Does he now?” Dan teases.

“Of course,” Phil assures him, a glint in his eye. “A nose, hair, functional teeth, a phone… the list goes on.”

Dan’s line of sight drops down to Phil’s hands, which are gently clasping a phone in a way that suggests he wants to do something with it. A nervous pang slams against the lining of his stomach. Does he want to film him playing? Hell, does he want to  _ show _ people the videos he’s taken?

“It’s just a phone,” he adds, sensing Dan’s sudden hesitation.

“Of course, yeah, I just, uh, thought you were going to…”

“Ask for your number,” Phil finishes. “I know it’s a bit eager of me, but that’s the way I am, I guess. I don’t expect you to. Don’t worry.”

The nerves bubble up his throat, flutter and hiss and froth. His insides are practically churning from the emotional whiplash. This man, this otherworldly creation who’s started occupying his mind like it was made for him to be there, is interested enough to want his number.

“So you saw me here and decided to come and ask for my number?” Dan queries, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“I came here to listen to you play. The privilege of having your number is an added bonus.”

Dan actually snorts at that and holds out his hand. “Go on then, what the hell.”

When Phil passes Dan his phone, their fingers brush. Dan adds himself as ‘Nature Boy’; the name provides him with a kind of armour, cushioning against the inevitable blow of Phil discovering who he really is and realising he doesn’t want a part of it.

Moments later, his phone buzzes on the piano.

_ 07845 642559:  _ _ Hello nature boy. _

He sends a quick reply.

_ fancy a serenade? _

 

* * *

For the next couple of weeks, as April bleeds into May, they develop a sort of pattern. Phil will text Dan if he’s nearby. Dan’s response is always the same:  _ i’m here. fancy a serenade? _ Then Phil will appear and soak in Dan’s musical offering of the day. It’s simple and always charmingly brief, but it gives Dan a sort of structure to his day - time spent with Phil, time spent without Phil.

This day is different. With the constant gloom that exams bring, Dan doesn’t feel like playing. Everything at the minute feels like a chore, another insignificant step in a generally insignificant existence. Playing in this state of mind would be insulting to anyone who dared to listen.

As if some divine power was able to communicate this to Phil, the following text Phil sends is everything he didn’t know he needed.

_ Phil: Can I take you out? _

When it comes to distractions, Phil’s tops the list. Dan’s heart threatens to burst out of his chest. Although things have been bordering on flirty for the past while, this is the first time either of them has been active enough to take it further than idle comments.

_ Dan: when and where _

He frowns at his phone. That sounded a little too eager.

_ Dan: i mean yes, please, that’d be lovely _

Phil’s reply comes moments later.

_ Phil: There’s this italian restaurant across the road from me. They do amazing arancini _

_ Dan: sounds good to me _

_ Phil: In terms of time and place: the piano @ 7? _

_ Dan: i’ll be there _

_ Phil: Me too. _

Four hours is a deceptively short amount of time to mentally prepare for a date with Phil, Dan thinks to himself. He’s spent the past hour tearing everything out of his wardrobe in an attempt to put together a decent outfit, but nothing seems to go. Nothing seems appropriate enough to be seen by Phil, to have his careful gaze run over it.

In a moment of panic, he grabs his phone from off his bed and calls the one person who knows more about looking presentable than he does.

“Dan?”

“Sophie, help,” he says.

“Hello to you too,” she replies. “What with?”

“I have a date tonight.”

“A  _ date _ ?” she practically shrieks. “Who’s taking you on a date? Is he a tall, dark, mysterious man who radiates 7-inch energy? A-”

“Who he is doesn’t matter,” Dan says. “What does matter is how I look. He’s… lovely. I don’t know.”

“Are you asking me to doll you up?”

“Please.”

“Alright,” she agrees, a smile in her voice. “Friends receive discounts of 100% for my services, but snacks are appreciated. See you soon.”

“Thank you so much.”

“Okay, okay. Bye.”

In the time it takes Sophie to arrive, Dan’s whipped up two mugs of mint tea (her favourite) and found a packet of biscuits to munch on (digestives - also her favourite). He’s busy arranging it all on a tray when she enters.

“You really need to start locking your door,” she says by way of hello, making her way over to Dan’s kitchenette. When she sees the tray, she feigns shock. “All of this for me?”

Dan rolls his eyes, plucking a digestive from the packet. “I’m being a good friend. It’s the least I could do. You have quite the task on your hands.”

Sophie sighs. “The opposite, actually.”

“Hm?”

“Dan, have you seen yourself? You’re ridiculous!”

“Or,” he counters, biscuit spilling from his mouth, “I’m just realistic.”

“If you say one more self-deprecating thing, I’m leaving,” Sophie says, no real conviction in her voice. “Sit down and let me do what I came here to do.”

Dan complies and perches on the end of his bed. Whenever he hangs out with Sophie, the conversation always strays into the territory of self-esteem issues. His abundance of them seems to make up for her apparent lack of them. She soaks up compliments like rays of sun; he lets them seep through him and trail behind him when he walks away.

Sophie pulls Dan’s desk chair next to his bed and sets her makeup kit beside him. Without asking, she already knows which products to use - he prefers it simple, just enough to cover up what needs covering up and accentuate what’s already there.

As she sets about dabbing concealer under his eyes, she’s quiet and attentive, something he’s grateful for. In an odd way, he prefers the lack of conversation. It gives him the space to let the thoughts in his head to rise to the surface, and for him to compartmentalise them. At the same time, he’s just as aware of his surroundings, of Sophie’s fingers gently pressing on his skin and smoothing out the makeup on his face.

“Do you ever do eye makeup?” she asks, reaching back into her kit.

“No,” he replies, watching as she dips a brush into some powder. “Why?”

The hairs of the brush tickle his face. “You have pretty eyelashes,” she comments. “It might be a bit too much for what you’re going for today, but mascara would look really great on them.”

“Could you put some on?”

She arches a brow slightly. “If you’re sure. There are a couple of steps before that.”

A few minutes later, after a different brush has been dragged around the edges of his face and his eyebrows have been combed upwards, Sophie pulls out a black tube and untwists the cap.

“Look down,” she instructs. “This’ll feel weird, but it brings the whole look together.”

Dan does as she says, trying not to blink as he feels the mascara wand brush against his eyelashes. Sophie repeats the process several times for each eye, then pulls back to examine her handiwork.

“You never said who your date was.”

Her gaze is contemplative, soft. Dan swallows down the nerves that threaten to surge up his throat and spill from his mouth. Sophie is the closest thing he has to a best friend. She may tease him relentlessly, but it’s miles better than his brain doing the same when he’s been alone for too long.

“He’s called Phil,” he replies eventually. “He saw me playing piano and things took off from there.”

“Ooh, a secret admirer. How romantic. Is he good looking?”

Dan groans, feeling his cheeks grow warm under her scrutiny. “He’s  _ so  _ handsome Soph, you have no idea.”

“So are you,” she points out. “Go have a look in the mirror.”

As much as he hates to admit it, when Dan first catches his reflection, he’s taken aback at the person waiting there. That person, the one who seems to echo his every move, has bright eyes that have been subtly smoked out, skin that’s smooth and warm, a certain kind of radiance he didn’t realise he had in him.

He feels arms wrap around his waist and a head of curly hair nestle against his shoulder blade.

“Told you you’re handsome,” she says teasingly, her words slurred against the fabric of Dan’s jumper. “Get changed into something smarter and you’re good to go.”

Dan looks down at his outfit, which can only be described as a product of not enough time and more than enough insecurity.

“Are you going to leave me to fend for myself?” he murmurs.

Sophie just squeezes harder. “He’ll know if you haven’t. Trust me.”

“Fine. Love you.”

“Love you too. You’ll smash it.”

As soon as Sophie’s seen herself out, Dan turns around to face the utter chaos that awaits him on his bed and groans. He’d only planned on asking her for outfit advice. Granted, the makeup does make him look prettier, but having a sad excuse for a potential date night look ruins the effect.

Looking closer, he realises Sophie’s actually gone to the trouble of grouping together some clothes. He’s not sure if it’s deliberate, or if she just shoved them out of her way so she had space to work, but either way he’s grateful.

There’s a jumper lying on top of a pair of ripped jeans that’s drawing his attention. The jumper has a slight sparkle woven into it; when he tilts it, it catches the light and throws it out again, sprinkling opalescent fragments through the air. A small laugh ghosts his lips. It’s perfect.

Once he’s changed, he gives himself a once-over in the mirror and brushes imaginary dust off his jeans. Perhaps it’s not the most conventional look for going out with someone, but at least he can approach Phil knowing the ensemble he’s put together is an accurate representation of who he is.

With 10 minutes to spare, he grabs everything he needs, sends a photo to Sophie for approval (hopefully heart emojis are a good sign) and makes his way downstairs. He goes slower than normal; being too eager and tripping over his own feet doesn’t sound too fun, nor does sweating off all the makeup Sophie worked so hard on.

Phil’s standing by the piano already. Dan approaches carefully, trying to drink in his appearance. He’s in jeans too - not ripped ones, thank god - and a plaid shirt that compliments the darkness of his hair. It’s way more casual than Dan’s seen him before, what with Phil apparently being at work all the time, but he pulls it off with ease.

Come to think of it, Phil would look good in anything.

Before his eyes betray him, Dan decides to speak.

“Hey.”

It’s soft, giggly, shy. Phil makes up for it instantly when he turns around, his reaction larger than life and bubblier than anyone else he’s met before.

“Hi!” He reaches his hand out to squeeze Dan’s shoulder. Dan feels it radiate through him, along his arm, up through his shoulders and neck, through every inch of skin and bone and fibre of his being. “Our reservation isn’t until half past. I thought we could walk there, if that’s okay?”

“That sounds… lovely, yeah.”

While walking isn’t something Dan usually enjoys, with Phil, the atmosphere has been completely transformed. The more they talk, the more he gets to see inside Phil’s head, gets to see how he views the world. His perspective is a unique one, one where shadows aren’t just the absence of light and rain isn’t just bad weather.

As they talk, Dan finds himself actively laughing and listening and learning. He learns how Phil’s one of the top employees for a company that specialises in post-production (“you name it, we’ll make a video for it!”), how he’s originally from Rawtenstall (“land of hills and abandoned hospitals.”) and how he has an older brother called Martyn (“we’re closer than most brothers.”) In return, Dan shares aspects of his life he finds interesting, how he’s almost graduating university and hasn’t even turned twenty-one yet, how music’s an outlet for him mentally and how he finds it hard to keep or keep any kind of meaningful relationship, platonic or otherwise. Phil’s just as good at receiving as he is at giving.

They arrive at the restaurant a few minutes early, cheeks flushed from the sudden temperature change and breathless from the talking. Phil holds the door open for Dan and all Dan can think to do is smile at him, as if he’s somehow able to silently communicate just how new and different and wonderful this all is.

The maître d' seems to recognise Phil. Her face lights up with glee at the sight of him.

“ _ Filippo _ !” she beams.

Phil laughs, his hand gently grazing Dan’s lower back. “Hi, Giulia. I booked a table for half past?”

Giulia gives him an admonishing frown. “You know there’s no need to do that! You’ve been coming here long enough!”

There’s a pause, loaded with something Dan can’t quite put a finger on.

“I… didn’t want to take the risk,” Phil says eventually. He turns to look at Dan; the sudden attention causes heat to flood to his cheeks. Dan smiles shyly at Giulia, who smiles back with something akin to motherly pride enveloping her features.

“ _ Chi è questo _ ? _ Il tuo ragazzo _ ?”

Phil laughs again. The sound isn’t as bright as it usually is. “ _ Non ancora _ ,  _ ma spero lo sarà, un giorno _ .”

Dan tries to ignore his heartbeat picking up at the sound of Phil sliding so effortlessly into another language. There’s a lot of this man he’s yet to discover: doors to open, keyholes to peer through, dreams to untangle.

Whatever Phil said doesn’t seem to have convinced Giulia. Instead of voicing what’s on her mind, however, she simply exhales and picks up a couple of menus.

“I’d better take you to your table, then,” she says, enthusiasm liberally injected into her voice.

She leads the way with Dan trailing after her (Phil had gestured for him to go first - he really hopes his jeans aren’t sagging). The table in question is nestled in the corner of the restaurant closest to the kitchen, wrapped up in a clean white tablecloth and adorned with a candle that’s slowly dripping wax. It’s homely and comfortable in a way that so many restaurants just aren’t these days, and from the way Phil’s eyes soften at the sight of it, one that’s dear to his heart.

For someone who outwardly appeared so emotionless and pristine, Phil keeps defying every expectation. Most dates he’s been on have consisted of drinking overpriced beers at a local pub, or going to see a movie that’s so boring he can feel his soul draining out of him, and this just isn’t. This is different in all the best ways possible.

Dan wonders whether Phil is like this with everyone. Some tiny part of him hopes he isn’t.

When Giulia’s set the menus down and playfully ruffled Phil’s hair, she disappears in a cloud of steam, leaving Dan to read what’s in front of him and Phil to read Dan’s expression. Dan makes the mistake of looking up and locking eyes with him; by candlelight, their normal blue is tinged with green and gold, like the sun skimming the sea. The more he looks, the more he’s enraptured by what he sees.

“What d’you fancy?” Phil asks softly.

Dan can barely dare to blink. “I was promised arancini, wasn’t I?”

“You were. Anything else?”

“Surprise me.”

Phil absentmindedly tugs his bottom lip between his teeth as his eyes flit over the menu. “I’m not too good with surprises, but I’ll try.”

“Yes you are,” Dan counters. “Remember how we met? That was a surprise.”

“Surprises are spontaneous,” Phil says. Dan waits for him to say more, for some kind of explanation, but nothing else comes.

“How was that not spontaneous?” he asks, frowning. “You saw me playing and came up to me right then and there.”

Phil tilts his head slightly, like he’s trying to see Dan from another angle.

“I’ve been watching you play for months.”

 

* * *

Dan’s breath escapes him in a soft ‘o’ sound.

“So it wasn’t spontaneous,” Phil continues. “I wouldn’t expect anything great from this, but I’ll try.”

“Don’t say that.” Dan feels an unusual surge of confidence, confidence that lifts him up enough to carry on. “The fact that you even invited me out in the first place is better than anything I’ve done in so long.”

“I was half-expecting you to turn down the offer,” he replies, laughing to himself.

“But I didn’t.”

“You didn’t.”

Before Phil can continue that train of thought, Giulia’s made her way over to their table. She’s armed with a notepad and a small pencil that she retrieves from behind her ear.

“Something to drink?” she asks.

“The usual,” Phil says. “Yeah, the usual for everything, please.”

“For two?”

Phil catches Dan’s eye and winks. It’s enough to make Dan’s heart still in his chest.

“For two.”

The rest of the evening passes faster than Dan’s liking. They talk about anything and everything, life outside the normality they’ve cocooned themselves into, birthdays and seasons and plans for the future. They drink wine and eat arancini that’s so delicious that Dan has to bite back moans with every mouthful. Phil forces Dan to put away his wallet and goes to pay for everything, letting him sit with guilt gnawing at his insides. It’s better than even the wildest of dreams his brain could come up with.

As they’re leaving, Phil grabs Dan’s hand and squeezes it before letting go. Sparks of pure electricity dance across his palms, his knuckles, his fingertips. A melody sounds from somewhere inside his mind, one that’s gentle and cautious and explorative. It’s amplified by everything around it, echoing down roads and bouncing off buildings. The streets are an empty stage, a stage where all the music throbbing in Dan’s head can burst out and stain the world with screaming colour.

Their goodbye, as goodbyes go, is fairly uneventful. Neither one of them is brave enough to make proper contact, so Phil stands and waves as Dan opens the door and lets himself into his apartment block.

When Dan finally flops back onto his bed, his stomach full of food and his head full of reveries, something in the air has shifted.

 

* * *

Although he texts Phil every day, it’s not until June that Dan actually gets to see him again. His life, once a frenzied blur of sheets of paper and cramped hands, has now settled into empty mornings, empty afternoons and sleep-filled everything in-between.

As much as he’d like to do something with his life, he’s content with the overwhelming amount of free time and lack of obligations he now has. If he wants to go to a cafe and spend the day watching strangers, he can. If he wakes up and feels like contemplating the panorama that stretches out of his window, there’s nothing stopping him.

It’s only his birthday when reality seems to kick back in.

The day starts with a call from his mum. She’s sweet and pleasant enough to talk to, wishing him well and marvelling over how her little boy isn’t so little anymore. His dad and grandma chime in midway through her ramble about getting a present to him on time and his grandma ends up stealing the phone for a few minutes. It may as well have been seconds; Dan wishes time was as malleable when he was conscious as it is when he’s swept away in a moment.

After finishing the call and responding to a few texts (there’s a fairly standard one from his brother and an emoji-heavy heart fest from Sophie), he decides to go and buy himself some cake.

On his way to the closest shop, he deliberates playing a quick tune. His stomach eventually overpowers everything else.

Dan doesn’t hang around for too long. In just under five minutes, he’s found a cake he likes the look of (Dr Oetker - suspiciously cheap, but it’ll do), paid for it and made his way home. Once he’s finally scaled all twelve flights and crawled back into bed, he scoops up a chunk of icing and sucks it off his fingers.

_ Phil: Are you free tonight? _

_ Phil: I have your birthday present and it’d be nice to give it to you on the day _

_ Phil: Which is today _

_ Phil: So _

In the waxing light of day, Dan’s brain strains to fully comprehend Phil’s message. After reading through it a second time, he makes a surprised noise and shoves his duvet off himself, catching the cake before it can spill and make a mess.

His stomach lurches uncomfortably as soon as he stands up. Come to think of it, he hasn’t eaten anything all day apart from the one helping of icing that had a faint aftertaste of chemicals. Maybe heading out with a friend is a good way to distract himself.

_ Dan: what time and where _

_ Phil: Now actually _

Dan freezes.

_ Dan: now now or in five mins now _

_ Phil: Five minutes now. I’ll come up to your door _

_ Dan: that’s literally 12 flights of stairs you’re gonna die _

_ Phil: I could use the exercise. Also it adds to the element of surprise _

He’s barely pulled himself together by the time he hears a faint knock.

When Dan opens his door, he sees Phil look the most casual he’s ever looked. Somehow, it still leaves him staring. His eyes rove over how the denim jacket he’s wearing clings to his lean shoulders, how his hair looks so fluffy when it isn’t fiercely combed back, how he’s empty handed.

Empty handed?

“Hey,” Phil says gently. “Ready for your birthday present?”

“Are we going out somewhere?” he asks, traces of nervousness lingering in his voice.

Phil frowns. “Not ‘out’ out, y’know. Just somewhere nearby.”

“How close is nearby?” Dan pushes. “Do I need to make an effort? Wait - what are we even doing?”

“You’ll see,” Phil reassures him. “The only people you’re hopefully going to be seeing tonight are a friend and I.”

Dan twitches slightly at the mention of a friend, but he nods. “Give me a couple of minutes.”

With Phil’s eyes trained on his back, Dan heads into his bathroom and tries to sort out his hair, combing through it with his fingers and artfully mussing it into place. He tries not to think too much about what kind of message that sends.

Giving himself a final once-over in the mirror, he swallows sharply and draws his shoulders back. Making an effort with his appearance from time to time makes all the difference. Even if he didn’t look his best, Phil probably wouldn’t bat an eyelid. After all, it’s only Phil.

It’s only Phil.

Therein lies somewhat of a problem. How can one person put him at such ease, yet make him feel constantly on edge? He’s never quite sure how to behave around him, whether Phil’s actually interested in his student drivel, or who he is as a person, or anything at all. Phil’s a closed book, one where it’d be a privilege to fold the corner of a single page.

“It’s only Phil,” he whispers to himself. The eyes that stare back are shimmering, vulnerable.

When he finally emerges from the bathroom, Phil looks up and offers a smile.

“Cute. Let’s go.”

Dan’s cheeks erupt into flames as he trails behind Phil, letting him lead them to whatever he has planned. They only make it down the stairs and across the road before Phil stops and whirls around.

“Happy birthday!” he exclaims.

Dan sees Phil gesturing towards the piano, the grin on his face almost devilish. He manages to smile back, though his confusion must shine through, as Phil drops his arms and frowns.

“Do you like it?” Phil asks, his voice bordering on uncertain.

He looks the most tentative he’s ever seen him, and Dan can’t understand why. It’s the same piano he’s grown to love for so long. Why wouldn’t he like it? His mouth wraps around several questions he has, but he can’t seem to spit any of them out.

“Of course I do,” Dan replies eventually. “I’ve been playing this old thing for years. I just… don’t get what’s going on here.”

A thought blooms in his mind, one that’s so unspeakably soft he doesn’t want to think about it. What if Phil had gone to the trouble of learning a piece for him? The idea of watching him sat a piano, his nimble fingers pressing notes like it’s second nature, the ripple of his shoulders as his arms move up and down...

“Oh!” Phil laughs, the sound almost ripped from his mouth. “We’re stealing this piano.”

“We’re  _ what _ ?”

“Well, not stealing,” he hurries to add. “Only borrowing for an indeterminable length of time.”

“No we’re not.”

“Yes we are,” Phil retorts, his tone even.

“Any reason why?”

“It’s your birthday. People give their friends presents when it’s their birthday, right?”

Dan feels the corners of his lips twitch. “They do.”

Phil seems to brighten. “Exactly. So this is yours. I know you love playing piano and you love this piano, so it just… made sense, y’know? As a gift.”

“But Phil,” he protests. “It isn’t ours to steal.”

“Think about it,” Phil says. “Who else plays it anymore? All it’s doing here is being exposed to the elements. You said there isn’t room in your apartment for it, but there’s room in mine. I’d much rather it was there than out here.”

“ _ Phil _ ,” Dan pushes. “In theory, it’s great. In practice, it’s hard to do. Also illegal.”

“That’s why I hired a van. It should be arriving any minute now.”

“You hired a van to steal a piano with?”

Phil nods.

“This is insane.” Dan runs a hand through his hair, exasperated.

“You want to do it,” Phil says. “I can tell.”

Dan groans. “I hate how well you know me.”

“Is that a yes, then?”

When Dan looks to Phil, his eyes have almost been completely swallowed up by his pupils. They’re dark, dizzyingly so, like black holes, their pull gravitational. The harsh amber light highlights his cheekbones, the dip of his Cupid’s bow, how long his lashes are. For however long he looks, Phil looks -  _ gazes _ \- back at him.

They both know there’s only one answer.

“Yes,” Dan sighs, yielding to Phil’s every word. “Let’s do it.”

As if on cue, a horn sounds from somewhere in the near distance. Phil turns around and raises an arm to alert the driver. All Dan can do is chuckle to himself. This man is too much in the best way possible; who else would go to such absurd lengths to make someone’s day like this?

The driver pulls up to the curb and stops the engine. A minute later, a man hops out of the van, looking like the antithesis of any kind of van driver Dan’s ever seen.

“PJ!” Phil exclaims, opening his arms. They hug briefly before PJ’s turning around and looking at Dan.

“Oh,” Phil says. “Dan, this is PJ, my colleague and bestest friend. PJ, this… this is Dan.”

“Hey,” PJ greets him, extending a hand. Dan shakes it awkwardly. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“You have?” he asks, trying to mask the slight tremble in his voice. When he looks to Phil for answers, he sees him with his eyes downcast. It might be the chill of London at night, or his natural rosiness, but his cheeks are decidedly flushed.

“All good things, of course,” PJ adds. “Phil rarely says a bad word about anyone.”

Something in Dan’s chest deflates. A rush of air escapes from him like a balloon. His lips tighten around a smile.

“Enough about me,” Phil says. He stops, clears his throat and puts on such a comically gruff and authoritative voice that Dan struggles to stay upset for long. “It’s Dan’s birthday, and I’ve handpicked this special operations team to ensure he has the best possible time. The first phase of this operation is taking the piano behind me to a safe home. It breaks my heart to see it out in the cold, so alone.”

Dan giggles, feeling his smile soften and melt around the edges. If he had more time to think about it, he’d probably marvel at just how easily Phil makes him forget about everything else, about the trivialities of life, and how he can elicit a smile with barely any words.

PJ nods, getting into character. “Sir, yes sir!”

He looks pointedly at Dan. Dan giggles again. “Sir, yes sir!”

Phil smiles in approval. “Now, to your individual tasks. PJ-”

“Yes, sir?”

“Don’t interrupt.”

“Sorry, sir,” PJ replies, just about suppressing a laugh.

“Apology accepted. Now, your task is to help me move the piano into the van and secure it. Dan, your task is to sit at the front of the van and enjoy yourself. Play your favourite music, stay warm, yodel - the choice is yours. Do you understand?”

Dan nods solemnly. “Yes, sir.”

Phil claps his hands together. “Excellent. Now let’s get to work!”

As Phil and PJ struggle to get the piano into the back of the van, Dan has the fun job of panicking over how Phil and he are going to fit in the front. There may be two seats, but they both happen to be over 6ft tall and Phil is surprisingly muscular.

(Not that Dan would pay attention to that kind of thing, obviously.)

When the pair join Dan at the front, it seems Phil has the exact same thoughts. Dan turns to face him, an apologetic smile lifting the corners of his mouth. Phil’s eyes are a still lake, with no emotions threatening to rise to the surface. It takes everything Dan has in him not to dip his toes into the water, to start a flood he can’t contain.

“There’s no music,” Phil comments.

“Right,” Dan says, his gaze unwavering. “I was, uh, preoccupied.”

Phil hums in understanding. “You can always play something later.”

“If you’d like me to.”

Then Phil moves to take the seat beside Dan and close the door behind him. Dan shuffles over as far as he can, but soon PJ’s getting into the driver’s seat and he realises his knees are in the way of the gear stick.

“Sorry, Dan,” PJ says, “would you mind?”

“No, of course not,” he replies hurriedly, angling himself away from the gear stick and towards Phil. He only notices that their legs are now pressed together from ankle to thigh when it’s too late.

“This is cosy,” Phil whispers.

A shiver trails down his back, breathy and feather-light.

“Are you cold?” Phil asks, his tone coloured with concern.

“A bit.” That’s a lie. His insides feel like they’re burning, the flames licking at his skin.

“My apartment’s warm, don’t worry.”

Another wave of heat rolls through him, dances across his scalp, sparks at the ends of his hair. He can feel every inch of Phil’s leg pressed into his, every drop of warmth bleeding into his skin, and it’s delicious. If Phil notices him subconsciously leaning in to chase more of that warmth, he doesn’t mention it.

The drive to Phil’s apartment is fairly quiet, save for the whistle of wind past the windows and the faint ringing of some song on the radio. PJ sings the words under his breath as he drives, his fingers tapping out a tune on the steering wheel. Dan lets himself curl into Phil and watch as London passes by in a whirl of amber lights and velvety darkness, content in the knowledge that this is the best birthday he’s had for some time.

 

* * *

Unexpected doesn’t begin to cover it.

Dan knew Phil was financially comfortable, but not by  _ this  _ much. He’d had a strange inkling when Phil had unlocked the door to his building and he’d been able to see the reflection of the elevator in the floor. Maybe he should have taken the hint.

Now that the three of them have miraculously made it inside Phil’s apartment with an entire piano sitting in the hallway (yes, Phil has a hallway), all Dan can seem to do is marvel at how  _ open  _ everything is. Through the hallway, there’s two spare bedrooms, one that’s being used as a study and the other a vision of green; a forest floor, rich and dark and earthy. Upstairs is where the trio now find themselves, bundled up on a sofa watching Dan’s favourite movie.

“As much as I appreciate animation, I wasn’t expecting this to be your favourite movie,” PJ comments.

Dan sighs. “It’s a masterpiece.”

Phil seems content that Dan and PJ are somewhat getting along, despite PJ’s apparent disdain for movies featuring ogres and anthropomorphic animals. He’s sat between the two of them, his arm draped on the back of the sofa and his eyes fluttering with the effort it’s taking to keep them open.

A short while later, when Shrek’s about to snatch Fiona away from Lord Farquaad, Dan feels something tickle his neck. It’s Phil’s hair. Then Phil starts softly snoring into Dan’s neck, and something stirs and flutters inside him.

He’s never sat with anyone like this before. His brain struggles to process how Phil can trust him enough to subconsciously lean against him, to let him shoulder his weight.

And then, like the sun splitting the sky in half, it dawns on him.

He can’t picture Phil as a friend.

Every single scenario his rose-clouded mind can come up with is in some way romantic; Phil’s cheekbones by candlelight, his touch rooting Dan to the earth, the two of them in the stairwell with words brimming on their lips-

“Phil?” PJ asks suddenly.

Dan’s imagination crumbles into dust and settles around him.

When Phil doesn’t reply, Dan peers over his head to where PJ’s sat. His eyes are very much focused on how close they are to each other, and Dan has to will himself not to blush too furiously.

“Oh.” He trails off, unsure. “I was just about to leave, is all. Phil won’t care if I don’t say goodbye, but for the sake of politeness, I will. So, goodbye.”

Dan smiles. “It was lovely meeting you.”

“You too,” he replies. “I hope you had a good birthday.”

“I did.” For once, he actually means it.

PJ stands up and shakes his head fondly at Phil. “Don’t tell Phil I said this.”

He frowns. “Hm?”

“Take care of him, okay? Just… he’s… more than he seems.”

“Wh-”

“I’ve said too much,” PJ interrupts him, his smile tinged with melancholy. “But I’ll see you two soon.”

Dan decides to let Phil rest for a bit longer before gently shaking him awake. When he finally stirs, his movements are laboured, the remnants of sleep still thick in his veins. If he notices PJ’s absence, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he stands up and starts making his way towards what Dan assumes is his bedroom.

It’s hard to tell in the dark, but he can just about see a bed past the door Phil’s gone through. His socked feet land on a rug as he trails behind him, unsure of whether he should even be in here or not.

The more pragmatic side of him soothes his anxiety. He’s only in here to make sure Phil is safe. Then he can make his way downstairs to the guest bedroom and get some rest.

In the time he spends wrestling with himself, Phil’s already stripped down to his boxers and slid under the covers. The satisfied groan he lets out doesn’t help Dan any more - if anything, it intensifies that strange fluttery feeling, whips up the butterflies into even more of a frenzy.

With him snuggled under his duvet and already succumbing to sleep, Dan pauses by the doorway.

“Dan?” Phil murmurs, his voice croaky and deep.

Dan turns around, a brow raised in question.

“Stay.”

 

* * *

Dan wakes up to the sun warming his back and the sound of something clattering in the kitchen. Groaning, he rolls over, stretches his numb limbs and sinks back down into the bed.

Phil’s bed.

_ Phil’s bed _ .

The sudden realisation is enough to propel him out of whatever dreamlike trance he was in before, enough to blow away the fog lingering in his brain and set all his nerves alight. He sits up, his insides spinning.

At the very least, he’s alone. If Phil was lying here next to him, he doesn’t know how he’d cope. Last night was when all the scattered fragments in his mind seemed to collide, the clouds of gas and dust coming together to form a star. The idea, timid and twinkling, now rests at the forefront of his being.

He’s powerless to stop it.

To pull himself from his thoughts, he gets out of Phil’s bed and starts dressing himself. Once he’s wrapped up in yesterday’s clothes, he gingerly enters the bathroom and snorts when he sees his reflection. It’s almost laughable how rosy his face is. He’s flushed from head to toe, his eyes sharp and too-aware of where he is.

“Oh. There you are.”

Dan almost leaps out of his skin. Phil’s stood by his bed, a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and messy black hair framing his face. His, admittedly, rather lovely looking face. Dan can only imagine he pales in comparison.

“Hey,” he says, his mind unable to catch up with his mouth.

Phil laughs softly. “Hey. I made breakfast if you’re hungry?”

Of course he did. There’s no way this is the same man who asked him to stay last night. Things like this just don’t happen to people like him.

“Sure,” he says, offering a small smile. “What is it?”

“Just some pancakes.”

He nods his head, a silent invitation for Dan to join him. Dan’s heart swells infinitesimally, a sudden fondness stirring up his insides.

Phil’s kitchen, like the rest of his apartment, is modern and sleek, but still, somehow, quintessentially  _ him _ . The countertops are all covered with various ingredients, a scatter of flour here, a splash of milk there. Dan wonders if any of it actually got made into pancakes.

He’s effectively silenced when Phil pulls a plate out of his oven and peels off the makeshift tin foil lid. There are so many pancakes - not too many, because ‘too many pancakes’ is a concept that doesn’t exist, but more than enough for the two of them.

Phil sets the plate down on the table, looking suitably impressed with himself. Dan doesn’t know where to begin; the table’s covered with various jams and sauces and fruit. Some juice cartons and a bottle of syrup are nestled in one corner with what looks like a bag of mini marshmallows.

“Help yourself,” he says. “If you want another topping, just check the fridge.”

“Are you not having any?” Dan replies.

“Not right now. I need to get your second present.”

With that, he whirls around, leaving Dan in a sort of stunned silence, his eyes not registering anything that’s in front of him.

When Dan’s recovered, he stacks some pancakes on a plate, drizzles syrup on them and eats. It isn’t everyday he actively thinks about the process of eating, but his brain doesn’t want to entertain any other idea. So he chews, swallows, washes it all down with some juice.

Phil returns far too quickly, an envelope in one hand and a shy smile on his face. He wordlessly sets it down in front of Dan, who picks it up.

“For me?”

Phil nods. “Open it.”

“You really shouldn’t have-”

Dan pauses. When he’s opened the envelope and peered inside, he realises it wasn’t what he was expecting at all.

It’s a plane ticket. First class. The destination? Fiji. This must have cost thousands of pounds at least.

“All-inclusive summer getaway with some friends?” Phil says jokingly, but there’s a slight tremble in his voice.

Dan stares at the words blinking up at him, and finds fresh tears welling in his eyes.

“This is far too generous,” he manages to choke out, his throat tightening. “I can’t accept this.”

Phil’s expression softens. “I won’t force you, but I… I’d really like you to come.”

“At least let me do something in return,” he says. “I could work extra shifts and pay you back at some point?”

“Don’t be silly,” Phil chides. “That’s all been sorted out already. Besides, if you wanted to ‘work’, I was hoping you’d maybe be able to, uh, perform for us.”

Dan feels his stomach drop. “Perform?”

“You don’t have to, obviously,” he adds quickly. “But you’re such a gifted pianist. I might have told my colleagues about you too, so.”

“Oh.” He pauses, trying to blink himself back to sanity. Phil and he clearly have wildly differing ideas of what ‘performing’ means. Part of him almost wants to believe Phil chose him to  _ perform _ , but that would involve Phil finding him attractive, which he clearly doesn’t.

“I probably shouldn’t say this,” Phil continues, “but I never bring anyone to these kinds of things. They get… lonely. I want this year to be different.”

“Aren’t there other people on the trip?”

“That’s what I thought when I first started getting invited,” he replies. “I thought I’d make friends, have fun, you know. Then I realised that there’s a difference to being alone and being lonely. Alone is dependent on other people. Lonely isn’t.”

In that moment, Phil looks like he’s torn his heart out of his chest and laid it on a silver platter for Dan to see. His hands are twisting themselves into knots in his lap, knuckles strained, thighs tense and pressed together.

Dan holds the ticket between his outstretched hands, still not fully able to comprehend what this means for him. This ticket is more than just a trip of a lifetime; it’s an opportunity to get to know Phil even more, a chance to earn some money he’s been needing for far too long, a chance to breathe. For the first time in years, he’s been presented with a chance to escape from the life he’s so used to, in its shades of rain-drenched grey and weeping concrete, and plunge into the unknown.

And in that moment, Dan makes a decision. It’s one thing hoping to go. It’s another thing when someone else is hoping you go.

“Then I’ll come.”


End file.
